


From Ashes Rebuilt

by ambersagen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Bad Laura Hale, Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Beta Derek Hale, Blood, Child In Danger, Gen, Good Alpha Peter Hale, Good Peter Hale, Hurt Peter Hale, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Murder, Murder Family, Neglected Stiles Stilinski, No Sex, No Underage Sex, Pack Feels, Peter Hale pov, Peter Hale-centric, Set just after the fire, Sort Of, Stiles centric, Stilinski Family Feels, Warning: Kate Argent, Werewolf Claudia Stilinski, Young Derek Hale, Young Stiles Stilinski, Younger Peter Hale, because Kate Argent, he tries, in regards to Peter's burns, mentions of underage rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 20:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17587955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen/pseuds/ambersagen
Summary: “You shouldn’t be alive,” Stiles finally admitted. He sounded sorry, smelled like anxiety and hunched in on himself as he fell back from Peter to land in the dented chair. “I heard the doctors telling your niece. She wasn’t quiet about it, and no one cares if I’m around anyway so I heard the whole thing, about your burns. I snuck in to see you.”“Like a sideshow freak,” Peter sneered, starting to understand.“Like a miracle,” Stiles corrected.





	From Ashes Rebuilt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firebull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firebull/gifts).



> Oh my god. I really really wanted to get this posted weeks ago but my BRAIN HATES ME. Shout out to my giftie, Originfire, I'm so sorry and I hope you like it. It got super long compared to what I expected. Hopefully it hits on something you like and nothing you hate. I didn't manage to get to murder husbands but there is definitely murder family involved. 
> 
> NOTES:
> 
> Set just a month after the Hale fire, I estimated their ages roughly from Peter being a few years older than Derek, who is a few older than Stiles...
> 
> Peter - around 20
> 
> Laura and Derek - Around 16
> 
> Stiles - around 13

 

_Agony. Bitter, scratchy pain that filled his eyes, his nose, that reached down his throat and choked out every breath till the burning in his lungs matched the burning of his skin. He was melting, the fat and meat on his bones sizzling and boiling like some sort of demented candle. He wanted death, everything around him was death, each precious life that used to nestle so comfortable with his were sizzling away in screams of pain and horror. He wanted to die, why couldn't he just die? It hurt it hurt it hurt so bad…_

 

In a dark room, tucked away in the long term care ward of Beacon Memorial Hospital, a man jolted awake with a strangled breath, eyes burning red as he shuddered and gasped, alone and confused. His nightmare was gone, but the agony remained. Whimpering and half wild, he struggled to rise but was met with only pain. His whole body burned with with it, and he remembered vaguely going up in flames like a wet candle. Instead of rising he now huddled down, desperate to bury himself away from the horrible sensation of his own skin and the gaping, empty places in his mind where his family should be. Pressing his face to the pillow he had been laid on he suppressed a howl. He was alone.

 

~~~~

 

One month after the brutal murder of most of his family, Peter Hale found himself bitterly cursing his dearly departed sister as her only remaining daughter stared down at him in self righteous fury.

“I won’t stay here, not for _you_. You never should have been Alpha, and I won’t die for your revenge.” Laura’s face was twisted, bearing little resemblance to the young, confident girl of only a few weeks before. The fire had changed them all, but Peter couldn’t say for sure how much of this bitter Laura was new, and how much would have revealed itself regardless, if the Alpha spark had gone to any Hale but her.

She, like his sister, always imagined the world marched to her tune. That the power of the Alpha had passed her up for her badly wounded, often shunned uncle clearly grated on her. He wondered, with a faint curl of his lip, whether she would have been long gone already had the Alpha spark gone to her, abandoning him for dead as she clearly believed the arsonists who had murdered their family were lurking to finish the job.

“Leave then,” he said, leveling her with a blank look. He was under no illusions that his wheelchair-bound form was up to intimidating her, though he would have loved to see her quake. Their now small and pathetic pack had been reeling under the physical and mental agony of so many deaths and his patience for her, the least wounded of their remaining family, was at its end.

“That’s fine. If you prefer to live your life as an omega on the run feel free, but I’m not letting you take Derek with you.” He flashed ruby red eyes, the one thing that functioned fully in his broken body. Recovery from the fire had been slow. The first weeks after the fire had been a nightmare from which he could not escape as his body slowly healed with only the Hale spark to keep him from death. Waking from his coma hadn’t improved the situation much, in his opinion, bitter though he might be.

“We’re staying. This land is our home, and quite frankly we would be slaughtered by the first pack we ran into if we left. Not everyone is as kind as Hales when it comes to foreign wolves on their territory.” That wasn’t quite true. Their family had been well known and powerful, and he knew of several packs who would likely take them in temporarily, seeing as how he was crippled and thus little threat as an Alpha. But it would never be a permanent fix to their issues, and as angry as he might be at this mess his sister had left him he still believed their family deserved justice.

“You’re crazy,” Laura spat at him, pacing back and forth in the small room like a caged animal. He wondered what a normal human would think to see her like this. Would they think that she was dangerous? Animal like? Would they be scared enough to say something? Call security? “We aren’t safe here, Derek can’t stay here, he can barely function from fear of this place and if I have to smell his guilt for one more day I’ll kill him myself. Of course,” she sneered, “that would probably make him happy.”

Peter wanted to scream at her. Did she think he wasn't afraid too? That he wasn’t terribly, horribly aware of how weak and vulnerable they all were here? He was never supposed to be Alpha, but he was now and he would be damned if he let fear rule his actions now. Instead he sneered back, gathering up his signature, cocky disdain in the hope that at least this familiar give and take would sooth his niece down from her rage.

“Derek needs therapy. We all do. You should know better than to blame your brother for this, for fuck’s sake. We had an alliance with the Argents, a pact that they have stood by for a decade. If they hadn’t gotten to us by raping and manipulating your brother they would have had ample opportunities regardless.”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he defended Derek so fiercely. The boy had fucked up. Nothing he said just now was a lie however, and the logical part of his brain knew that, but the rest of him was petty and glad that Derek had barely spoken two words to him since he had woken. Derek had never been a chatterbox, but the guilt of their family’s deaths had reduced him to almost complete mutism, not that he had shown his face enough to provide regular conversation. Neither Derek or Laura had been much support for Peter as he healed and planned for their future.

There had been a moment, that first day of true consciousness, when he had thought he caught the smell of family around him. His room had carried a pleasant scent, one that spoke of caring and worry, but he quickly realized that he had little in the way of family remaining and that neither his niece or nephew had come to visit in days. It was just wishful thinking.

Laura bared her teeth at him, human and blunt still, but the threat was there. However, her response was cut off by a soft knock on the door. Both Hales startled as the door slid open and a young boy stuck a curious head into the room. They hadn’t noticed anyone approaching, but Peter supposed that wasn’t much of a surprise. Though he had gotten a private room in light of the severity of his injuries, his room wasn’t located in a particularly private area of the hospital and there was always staff, patients, or visitors coming and going through the ward’s halls.

“Sorry.” The boy said, sounding not at all contrite. “I was just dropping by to see if you wanted any company.”

They stared at him, silent.

“Uh, I don’t know if they told you but I’ve been reading to you, while you were, you know,” he wiggled his arms in a kind of floppy motion, “doing your coma thing? It’s part of a patient wellness program thing that I volunteer for since I’m here all the time for my mom, and dad doesn’t have the time to stay home with me every day. Keeps me occupied and it’s supposed to do people good you know?” He was in the room now, young hands grabbing at his backpack straps as he wiggled in place like a toddler who needed to pee, looking around with interest and keeping a wary eye on Laura. Peter wondered what he had heard before finally knocking on the door. He felt his eye begin to develop a twitch. Damn his niece.

“I suppose you do know about the healing, you’re not so much with the comatose anymore I see -—being awake and all. Uh, I could come back later?” He glanced back and forth between Peter and Laura, seemingly nervous and yet not pausing at all as he edged casually around the room in a steady walk towards Peter, and the wolf had a bad moment where he wondered if a preteen should be considered a serious threat to his safety. But the boy kept some space between him and Laura, and that soothed him somewhat. The boy obviously knew there was something dangerous in the wind, and had respect for his instincts. She still had a slightly feral look about her, but the oddness of the interruption had taken some of the steam out of her sails. “Or not at all I guess, if this bothers you, although I was about half way through The Two Towers which is like, the best of the Lord Of The Rings and I don’t see how anyone could find that annoying or anything but—”

“Enough,” Laura snapped, slamming her closed fist against the back of an innocent chair. Her wolf was on the cusp of control, flashing just the barest gold as she indulged in her tantrum. The boy flinched, scurrying quickly behind Peter as the older wolf huffed at her, unimpressed with her fit of temper. “This isn’t over. You won’t change my mind.”

“And that won’t change my answer,” Peter replied, the boy beside him watching the exchange with dramatically raised eyebrows.

Laura glared, flipping her hair and storming out of the room. Really, it was a wonder she had the capacity of mind to be so dramatic. Peter felt too worn out to muster half his usual drama, and the stench of death lingering around them all cut down on any urges he might otherwise have indulged in. Even he knew when enough was enough.

“Wow. With family like that who needs enemies?” The boy muttered right into his burned ear, his voice loud as a gunshot to Peter, who found himself tense all over as he fought the urge to pull away, to hide from view or rip out the throat of the one who had gotten so close to him in his weakness. His wolf snapped and snarled in his mind, but he slammed his mental walls down on it. Now wasn’t the time for blood. Not yet.

“You’re a very pessimistic child, aren't you?” Peter turned, giving the boy a critical and disapproving look over. “And how do you know who she is? Don’t you know it’s rude to go sticking your nose into private affairs, especially in a hospital?” He wondered at the boy’s presence, which had apparently been a previous and recurring event that he had been unaware of. He wasn’t pleased at all at the thought of anyone witnessing his unconscious and wounded state. Not outsiders, not even pack at this point could be trusted.

“Yeah well, my family is soon to become a one parent household so excuse me if I find it horrible that she isn't happy you're alive.” The boy blinked innocently at him. “I never said I was a happy person anyway. I can’t help it if you fall for my angelic charm.”

The boy’s heart hadn’t stuttered, so he wasn’t making up a sob story as an alibi at least, but Peter had no time for strange human children. His life was complicated and frustrating enough right now.

“You should go,” Peter pulled back, his hands weak as he pushed at the wheels of his chair. For a moment he was blinded by rage towards the hunters that had dared to mutilate him so. Fuck. He was too close to the edge today with Laura’s visit and his own frustrating existence being what it was. He needed peace and solitude to compose himself. “Your services are no longer necessary and as it’s the middle of the day I’m sure you have homework or something you should be putting energy toward.”

The boy just looked unimpressed. “I thought you were a cool adult. What kind of idiot wants to do homework when there’s Tolkien on hand?” Ignoring Peter’s glare, the boy settled himself into the slightly bent chair, keen eyes flicking over the fist shape Laura had left in the metal but ultimately dismissing it in favor of rummaging through his backpack.

“Most people would put their education over cheap fantasy thrills. And I didn’t mean that as a suggestion. You need to leave. I don’t have time for entertaining you or any desire for company.”

The boy shrunk down, eyes on his lap where his hands slowly petted a worn paperback. Peter didn’t need even his wounded and diminished senses to see that the kid was disappointed, but unwilling, for some reason, to just go. He was about to call the nurse and have the boy removed when nervous eyes flicked up to his and then down again. A whisper came, soft enough that he had to lean forward to catch it.

“Her eyes—they were glowing, weren’t they?”

Peter stilled, all his predator’s instincts narrowing down on the boy.

“I looked at my dad’s files after I started reading to you.” The boy still whispered, but there was a growing steel in his voice and eyes that made Peter’s wolf perk up in interest. “Twelve people died in that fire, and I just thought….how come you didn’t just run outside? Dad said a firefighter pulled you out, but no one else escaped, even though it wasn’t that late, and most of you were in the living room or back hall towards the basement. All near doors. You were awake. Why didn’t you leave? Nobody died of smoke inhalation...I’m sorry! Peter?”

There was a sharp pain in his leg. He could vaguely feel his body shaking, his useless burnt arm twitching against his stomach as his good arm pressed down, claws digging into the meat of his thigh. Smoke was in his lungs, and his face burned. He could feel his skin peeling and bubbling under the intense heat. The boy was vacillating around him, making shushing sounds as if Peter were the child here, and he could feel his eyes flashing, but inside his wolf was shrinking down in despair rather than baying for blood. He couldn’t rein himself in. He couldn’t escape.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that. I just, I thought someone might be after you. That’s true, right? That’s why your niece is so upset. You were attacked, weren’t you? After I looked you up in my dad’s files I came back to see you a few times. You—you kept whining and groaning in your sleep.”

His hands were rubbing Peter’s, softly, in circular motions as he eased Peter’s claws out of his leg, pressing closer till he was practically draped across his lap as well as he could from his crouched position besides the wheelchair.

“Please don’t. I promise not to say anything anymore.” The gentle massaging continued, its steady rhythm slowly pulling Peter back. “I’m sorry, dad always says I talk before I think and that I should stop before I say something I’ll regret. Talking’s all I can do usually. It’s my only skill.”

It was there again. That scent. Caring and Worry. The boy had been here before, leaving his scent around the room as he read a comatose stranger his favorite books while Peter’s own family drowned in their own self-centered guilt and rage. He practically choked, desperate as he was to breathe it in. No one ever truly cared about him these days and wolf be damned, it made his human side want to go belly up in relief at having proof that someone cared about his pain.

What’s your name, boy?”

“Oh.” The kid was radiating embarrassed heat, but his face remained pale as snow, unable to hold a blush. Peter found himself admiring it as a neat trick of biology in a distant kind of way as he struggled to regain his equilibrium. “It’s Stiles.”

Peter growled, focus slipping again at the tell-tail blip in the boys heart that gave way the lie. He couldn’t handle that right now, not when he was falling apart like this.

“Tell me your name, boy. Don’t make me angry.”

A genuine scent of confusion hit his nose as the boy spluttered. “I am Stiles!” No heart blip. “That’s my name, dude. No need to get grumpy.”

This last gave the boy’s heart a small flutter, but enough to let Peter know it wasn’t a full lie. Perhaps a nickname? He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and focusing on what his wolf could tell him.

The boy smelled of nerves, a sort of sweaty-anxiety scent that went too deep to be solely Peter’s fault. It wove in with that soft baby smell that most children had before puberty really got its hooks into them. His wolf grumbled as he sniffed out very little in the way of other humans on the boy. A child his age should reek of family, caretakers, and friends. He should be getting hugs, rough housing with his peers, and should smell of guiding touches and care. There was little of that beyond that lingering death stink that he had attributed to the hospital itself.

There was a niggling thought growing in his brain, a spark of a plan that made his wolf tremble with need and the Alpha now pulsing in him flare demandingly.

This boy, Stiles, was alone in a stranger’s hospital room, in the middle of a school day. No scent of care or family beyond this dying relative clung to him, no adult called after his whereabouts through the halls. He also knew their secret, or at least part of it. He saw Laura and didn’t go running off screaming into the night. Peter was still clinging to control by a claw but there was an idea there, aching up from the mutilated remains of his pack bonds.

“Peter? Are you ok?”

“Why are you here Stiles? Surely you have better things to do then hang out with burn victims and read to unconscious strangers?” He watched the boy.

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Stiles finally admitted. He sounded sorry, smelled like anxiety and hunched in on himself as he fell back from Peter to land in the dented chair. “I heard the doctors telling your niece. She wasn’t quiet about it, and no one cares if I’m around anyway so I heard the whole thing, about your burns. I snuck in to see you.”

“Like a sideshow freak,” Peter sneered, starting to understand.

“Like a miracle” Stiles corrected. “You were hurt so bad. I stayed with you for weeks, even when no one else came.” His little hands clenched, voice trembling as Peter stared at him in fascination. “You were melted, right down to the bone in some places.” The boy’s eyes were shining now, looking at Peter like he was the answer to all his prayers. It made something in him warm, and the irony of wanting more of that feeling was not lost on him.

“You got better,” Stiles said, and a light bulb went off in Peter’s brain.

“You said something about a dying parent, didn’t you?” He felt an odd mix of disappointment and approval. His wolf was rumbling happily over how loyal this pup was to his pack, a pack that, much like Peter’s own, didn't seem to care for him despite his loyalty. His human self was pouting. He wasn't too proud to admit he enjoyed being the center of someone’s fascination, and it was something of a letdown that the boy was here for werewolf abilities rather than for Peter’s sake. Still...he could work with this. And more surprisingly he found himself wanting to work with this.

Maybe it was just the Alpha in him, still reeling from the loss of pack. Maybe Talia was right and he just wasn’t cut out for being an Alpha. It was after all, lonely at the top, and he had never done well without an audience. Either way, when he queried his wolf the beast sent nothing but contentment and excitement back at the thought of expanding the pack. Giving the bite to terminally ill humans would put them firmly in his debt, instinctual werewolf loyalty aside. And if the bite went bad there was an easy excuse on hand, and no one was left with the sudden demise of a loved one but rather a slightly sooner than expected passing.

“My mom is dying,” Stiles agreed, drawing Peter back into the moment.

He shouldn't. He really really shouldn’t. Making new pack members while being hunted by crazed yet skilled murderers was a suicidal idea. But the wolf in him was whining for a new family, because family made them stronger and being stronger was vital right now. After the fire and the transference of the Alpha spark to him the few remaining pack bonds that survived were barely enough to heal him. Even now his skin throbbed in a half remembered agony of fire and pain. He needed more wolves. Surprisingly enough he wanted this particular boy. It must be the lingering calming scent of him that filled the room even now, some Pavlovian response to the only one who was kind and there when he was wounded.

“I can give her the bite.”

Stiles gave a full bodied jerk, shock and hope at war as huge eyes met Peter’s.

“That’s what you wanted to ask, isn’t it? If I could change her into something like me. Something that would heal.”

He watched as the boy gulped, nodding tentatively as if expecting Peter to revoke the offer at his confession. This was more like it. Peter felt better than he had since the accident. Who knew all it took was a small power trip and a surprisingly eager child minion to cheer him up?

“You said your father is at work right now?” He needed a plan. There was little point in building a pack only to have them butchered by hunters because some human squealed on them. The whole family would have to be in on it. His wolf wanted the boy anyway, what was one or two more relatives in the long run besides extra betas?

“Yeah,” Stiles was eager now, book long forgotten and in danger of falling off his lap as the excitement hit him. “He works day shift as a deputy, but his work’s been real good about giving him time off because of mom being….so bad lately.” He bit his lip. “You can really save her? Bite her or whatever? Are you like a vampire or something?” the boy frowned. “But you were growling in your sleep, so probably not.”

“I’m a werewolf, born not bitten,” Peter replied, smugly shifting just enough to show some fang. He knew he made it look damn good, although that much was probably lost on the boy. It seemed to impress him enough anyway. “Will your father be by to pick you up today?” His mind was whirling at finally having a goal in sight. “The sooner I can give your mother the bite the better her chances at healing will be.”

Stiles gave a rapid and trembling nod yes. “I can have him come to your room no problem.” His face fell, and he bit his lip. “He might not be happy I've been talking to you. I'm not supposed to bother anyone while I’m here.”

Peter snorted. “What does he expect a kid to do all day alone in the hospital? Sit quietly in the corner and grow moss?” He leans back in the wheelchair with a scowl. “You were helping people, going out of your way to provide comfort while policing yourself when I’m sure you would rather be doing any other number of fun things with friends that don’t involve half melted coma patents. You did good Stiles, and I will make sure you are repaid for that.”

The boy blushed, muttering something that sounded like ‘thanks I guess’ and pulled out a clunky cell phone, quickly becoming absorbed in texting. Peter was happy to wait. He could be patent, and he was still healing enough to feel a level of fatigue he was unused to as a werewolf. It was awful and he pitied humans for having to feel like this every time they got hurt.

“Umm, so,” Stiles shyly broke the silence only to leave it hanging. The wolf in him grumble as Peter cracked open his eyes just enough to peer at the boy. “You up for The Lord of the Rings?” Stiles asked, raising his paperback hopefully.

Magnanimously, Peter gestured for him to go ahead, and the pup happily launched into his narration. Eyes slipping closed Peter allowed himself to just relax. The time for action would come soon enough. Absently, he wished he could remember Stiles’ previous visits. It might have helped, knowing someone was there and waiting for him to wake up. Of course, it’s possible he did know, subconsciously. Isn’t that what people say about coma patents? That they can still hear and feel what goes on around them? He had no memory of it so there was little point in wondering, but it was a nice thought.

 

~~~~

 

They were a few chapters in and Peter was beginning to feel hungry when there was a buzzing sound that caused Stiles to do a strange kind of jump-twitch and almost throw the book across the room. Blushing at Peter’s raised eyebrow the pup checked his phone, scent spiking with whatever he read from its cracked screen.

“Dad’s coming. ETA two minutes. You should just tell him fast, don't give him time to think or question it. He’s probably got his gun though so try to keep it friendly. Just, make sure he knows you can save mom.” The poor boy was a flood of nerves, and Peter didn’t like it one bit.

“Stiles, breathe,” Peter said, reaching over to rub the boy’s shoulder as Stiles took a couple of gulping breaths. “Thank you for the advice, but I think your father is far more likely to be upset at finding his son hyperventilating in the room of a stranger. There’s not much we can do to control his reaction to news as...unbelievable as this.”

Stiles nodded, still looking kind of green around the edges as there was a knock on the door.

“Don’t worry, I will make sure this works,” Peter promised, not breaking eye contact with the boy until the door opened hesitantly, and the father stepped in.

Slowly, so as not to appear guilty, or threatening, or anything other than a pleasant and thankful coma patent being kind to this lovely child who volunteers at the hospital, Peter removed his hand from the boy’s shoulders and wheeled his chair to face the man.

“You must be the deputy father,” he said as cheerfully as possible, as if his nose wasn’t already parsing through the various scents of alcohol, depression, stress, and gas station food on the man. It could almost be a valid question though, with how little the man smelled of Stiles. That same lingering stench of death and decay hung over him as well, cementing the mother as the link between the two even if Peter hadn’t already known the man was his boy’s father.

“Ah, yes.” The man’s gaze jumped across Peter from burns to missing hair and back down to the wheel chair before awkwardly making eye contact. Not smooth in the least, and it made Peter itch to cut some throats. But his desire to have the boy in his pack outweighed the desire to teach his father some manners.

“I’m John, John Stilinski,” the man said, oblivious to the violent thoughts directed at him. “I hope Stiles has been behaving himself?” John said, and Stiles scoffed indignantly.

“I’m always on my best behavior, dad! I’ve been keeping Peter company,” Stiles waved the paperback in his father’s direction, almost dropping the book in his earnestness.

“Stiles has been very kind,” Peter agreed, refraining from laughing as the boy fell back into his seat dramatically. “I’ve only just recently woken up and everything has been...difficult. Your son has done a great deal of good in keeping my mind off things.”

“Ah,” there was awkward understanding in John’s voice, and his eyes lit like a dog catching the scent of rabbit as he remembered exactly who he was talking to. The cop had some instincts after all, it seemed, and Stiles had said his father had been creating reports about the fire that at was at least open to the idea of arson. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m glad Stiles could help, he’s a good kid.”

The boy preened at the compliment, his chest puffing out even as he ducked his head shyly at the smile Peter gave him.

“There are many things I am thankful for, and your family is one of them.” It was time to spring the trap. He hoped it all went smoothly because he would hate for things to get rough. There was no way he was letting Stiles get away, but it would make the boy sad if his parents weren’t happily on board with the change. “In light of what I have heard about your work, I think I owe your family a great deal.”

“What do you mean?” The man was confused now, but not yet wary.

“You have been looking into the fire, correct? You suspect what I know, that the fire was arson, and my family's deaths were no accident.”

He had the man’s full attention now, and it was time to derail this line of thought. Revenge was the end goal, but this opportunity was a worthy goal all on its own. Pack. He would rebuild his pack.

“I believe we can help each other. Your son’s kindness pulled me from a dark place, and your own work will bring justice for the murder of my family. Let me repay you by saving your family.”

John was tense now, gears turning in his mind, but uselessly as he was missing a vital piece of the puzzle.

“Please keep an open mind,” Peter said confidently. Don’t question yourself and others are likely to follow suit. “You saw me during the fire? I look better now don’t I?” And he wasn't lying. He remembered the first time he looked in a mirror after waking up. He wouldn’t have thought he could look worse than half scared, red and puckered remnants of his burns twisting across his face and half his body. But he did. At least nothing was open and bleeding now, and they should be. He should be stuck under sheets, under bandages and fans and all sorts of medications, but he wasn’t. He should be dead, but here he was.

John seemed to have realized this as well, and he looked ready to start interrogating Peter, so the wolf raised a placating hand.

“It’s impossible, I know. What I have done is impossible, but here I am, and here you are. Please trust your eyes, and trust that my gratefulness for your attempts at finding the arsonist who killed my family means that I care for your own family’s safety and wellbeing.”

“What the hell are you saying?” The man obviously knew he was being lead, but wasn’t sure where, and it bothered him if the twitching of his hand towards his waist was any indication. Peter really hoped the man would be sensible enough to not start shooting up a hospital.

“I have a super human healing ability, and I can help your wife, if you let me,” That was a lie. He would bite the woman regardless of John’s opinion on the matter. It was her choice to make. “Remember that my whole family has lived here for generations and never harmed anyone. Remember that I only want to repay a few kind deeds your son and yourself have done for me. Please don’t be alarmed. I am not all human.”

He let his wolf out.

“Oh my god,” John jerked away, his back hitting the closed door behind him with a dull thud.

“Breathe dad,” Stiles said quietly, and Peter pulled back the shift with a grimace. Full beta form felt terrible on his burns, like pulling apart recently scabbed skin. He didn’t smell any blood though so he probably hadn’t made the burns any worse.

“I want to help,” he reiterated as the man gasped at him. “Time is of the essence however. I can give your wife the ability to heal like I can, but if she is too far gone it won't work.” It would kill her on the spot actually, but he wasn't stupid enough to mention that.

“What the hell are you?”

“Werewolf, although I assure you that the reality is far less exciting than Hollywood would have you believe. I’m mostly an undergrad at Stanford, majoring in Law and Business. My sister, Talia, was what you would call the Alpha wolf, along with being a mother, sister, and town treasurer.” He felt a wave of grief rising, and viciously stomped it down. He wasn’t going to so much as snuffle over this right now. He had important things to do. He was the Alpha now for fuck’s sake. “We are, for the most part, normal people.” He continued, subdued but determined. He needed to see this through. For the sake of his pack’s future.

“Except for the healing,” Stiles butt in. “Look at him, dad. He’s almost completely fixed.”

“It’s true,” Peter picked up smoothly, ignoring the way John flinched and the aborted hand raised to pull his son to him. Nice of him to notice his boy had been in the room with a werewolf for who knows how long.

“One of the perks of being biologically a bit different from a run of the mill human is how durable we are. Illness is basically unknown to us, and wounds that would kill only inconvenience.”

“See?” Stiles jumped up, running to the door and throwing it open with excitement. “We gotta ask mom! She can get better and have super wolf powers!”

Peter choked back a snort at the look on the man’s face as Stiles ran over to grab the handlebars of the wheelchair.

“Careful with your arm, ok? I’ll push. I swear I wont run over any little old ladies or like, tip you over in a NASCAR stile rolling-exploding crash.”

“Appreciated,” Peter drawled. “Come on John. I’ve got to say, you’re taking this rather well.” Exaggeration, the man was so blank he might actually have gone into shock. “Let’s see what the missus has to say about my offer. Stiles, try to remember that this is all a secret. Please don't shout about werewolves in front of people.”

“No problemo,” The boy replied. And off they went, a strange procession of burn victim, child, and befuddled cop. So far much better than Peter had anticipated.

“Mom should be up for her evening meds by now,” Stiles chattered, the sweat smell and white knuckled grip he had on the chair the only indications of his worry. “The meds won’t kick in for a while and the nurses will want to try and get some food in her so we should be fine, uh-I mean, she won't fall asleep on us or anything. Sometimes the meds knock her out real fast. I keep thinking how helpful that would be, to be able to take a pill and just, bam! Sleepy time.”

Peter leaned his head back, pressing it softly against the boy’s chest. “She won't need it for much longer,” he said, ignoring the too rapid turn Stiles jerked them around. “Think of all the nice foods she will be able to enjoy with you after she escapes this hell hole.”

“Language Peter! My mom won’t want her baby’s delicate ears to hear such filth.”

He laughed softly, something almost happy filling his chest. “Right, I forgot about your ‘alleged’ angel face.”

“Excuse you I have a carefully cultivated persona of innocence. Even you couldn't see through my disguise...:” he trailed off as the chair was pulled to a stop before a private room.

“John, if you would be so kind as to get the door.”

John looked at him, then at his son, who was bouncing impatiently on the heels of his feet. The dazed look he had been wearing at the sight of Peter’s beta shift was wearing off, to be replaced by disbelief and something like anger? Possibly annoyance. But Stiles had been right about the rushing strategy, and now that they had been rapidly transported to his wife’s room he couldn’t protest without causing a scene. The man ground out a sigh, muttered something under his breath that definitely sounded like “Jesus fuck, fine, why not”, and reluctantly opened the door, holding it ajar as Stiles steared Peter into the room.

 

~~~~

 

The woman in the bed before him looked as if she had already died. Only the rattling rise and fall of her chest and the continued hum of machinery around her gave any indication that this bone thin, pale person was still with them.

The bitter stench of vomit and sweat permeated the room, fighting the regular burn of bleach and antibacterial liquids that invaded his nose in this place. By the twist on the boy’s face as the group shuffled in the smell must be strong enough to register even to dull human senses.

Stiles walked up to his mother, no hesitation in his approach even as his father faltered. Guilt and denial held him back from his wife, and Peter wondered how often Stiles was left alone to care for and hold vigil over the dying woman. He had been alone when he came to see Peter after all, pouring his attention and kindness onto a hopeless, unresponsive man. The wolf in him growled, displeased with the thought of this boy left alone to wander miserable hospital hallways. _He found u_ s, Peter soothed his wolf. _He and his kin are ours now. Pack. We are Alpha now. We will protect them like we couldn’t protect the others._

The boy was whispering to his mother, nonsensical, calming things as the woman woke with some difficulty. For a moment Peter wondered if she would have the strength to survive the bite. No one was really sure what caused rejection after all, and if she were to die from it hunters would feel validated in the open slaughter of his remaining pack. He wheeled a bit closer, breathing in deep and focusing on the woman.

He felt the wolf stir, its attention caught.

“Mom, this is Peter. Remember I told you I’ve been reading to him while he slept?”

“The man in the coma?” The words came slowly from her, but they were precise and they did come, in the end. The wolf chuffed. She would do fine. She had the will.

“Yeah, that’s right. He got better though, obviously. He—he has a way to make you better too.”

Peter side eyed the father, but the man made to move, to help or explain. One of those then, a man more in need of a nanny than a real wife or child. Well. No one said he had to offer the man the bite, although he would probably make a loyal beta. If the mother or the boy was in the Hale pack then he too would be pack regardless of the bite.

“Stiles, baby. Don’t do this to yourself. I can’t get better, honey.”

“Mom—”

“You know I would never leave you if I had a choice. Never.” Her voice was firm, and her gaze kind, but the words obviously hurt to say, and to hear.

“Mrs. Stilinski,” Peter butt in smoothly, hiding a wince at the pull of his healing skin as he attempted a smile. No doubt he looked horrifying. “I’m sorry to meet your in these circumstances, yet I am not at all sorry to inform you that your wonderful son is telling the truth. I’m here to help you.”

Her skeptical look made him want to sigh in frustration. Talia...she always said his vocabulary made him sound like an evil villain and that it didn’t fit his baby face. Damn Hale genes. He had hoped the scaring would give him some gravitas, but it must not have been enough to hide the fact that he was a twenty year old claiming to have a cure for cancer.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what they told you but it’s one hundred percent confirmed that I cannot be cured.” Her trembling hand reached out to her son, attempting to gentle the sting of her words. “Now, if you were selling something to stop this nausea I wouldn’t complain.”

“I believe you’ll find my cure to be effective.” He smiled, flashing his eyes as he rolled his chair nearer the seat besides Stiles. He could feel the eerie glow of his wolf shining through. “Anything short of a good headshot tends to be a temporary annoyance, and even then you can often shake it off. Take the bite, and you’ll survive this illness.”

There was dead silence in the room as he held his shift, staring into the woman’s eyes. She stared back, her grip on her son tightening almost imperceptibly as she took in his transformation, but her face showed no fear. Peter was impressed. It seemed like Stiles got his nerve from his mother.

“You were in a coma,” her voice was flat, no emotion betraying her opinion.

“I was destroyed. Eighty percent third and fourth degree burns and by all rights no hope of anything but a swift death to end my coma,” he agreed, doing his best to remain relaxed under the family's scrutiny.

“No one else survived,” John interjected from his self imposed separation. “If you’re so hard to kill then why did the rest of them die?”

“The rest of his _family_ , dad. His siblings and their kids. His family, not some ‘them’ for fuck’s sake,” Stiles said, rising to Peter’s defense.

“Stiles,” the man barked out in warning, but the boy stared him down, unrepentant until John at last had the decency to glance at Peter apologetically. Yet not sorry enough to actually apologize for treating his murdered family like a throw away barb it seemed, and John clenched his jaw against whatever else he had to say on the matter.

“As you said,” Peter continued mildly. “My family weren’t all like me of course. Some were human, with all the vulnerabilities that come with that. The rest of us were trapped, poisoned and caged by bigots who think anyone not human deserves death. Luckily for me werewolves have a sufficiently accelerated healing rate to allow me to survive the initial injuries.”

“Werewolves,” Claudia said, finally falling back against the bed in shock. It seemed there was only so much even she could take in a stride. “Your pack? What does that mean exactly?” Claudia asked pointedly, and Peter’s wolf preened. Clever and strong. His boy had gotten his smarts from one of his parents at least.

“I am Alpha now. My sister Talia was Alpha before me, and that means only I can give a changing bite.”

“And you’re the boss?” Stiles asked, curiosity starting to animate him again now that his mother was listening.

“In a sense. The Alpha is more like a protector. Alphas look after the wellness of the pack as a whole and again watch for the wellbeing of every member of the pack. We guide and sooth and fight. If that means taking charge we will, if that means handing control to someone better suited for each challenge we do that too. The Pack follows the Alpha and the Alpha lives for the Pack.”

“That sounds...surprisingly reasonable for supernatural creatures of the night.”

“Well,” Peter grinned, unable to help himself he shifted into full beta, revealing fangs and ridged brow, the wolf breaking through. “There is that, of course.”

“I want the bite.” Her voice was strong, not a waiver to be heard.

Her husband started in alarm, but Stiles gave out a happy whoop. “Claudia, we should think this through.” John said, casting Peter an angry look.

“I’m no liar John.” She met her husband’s gaze with determination and defiance, despite her skeletal and dying form. “I swore that if there was any other choice than death I would take it. I’m not leaving you or my baby. I don’t care what else there is to hear about it.”

John deflated and Stiles threw himself at his mother, the salt scent of tears hitting Peter’s nose.

“Excellent,” Peter said, clapping his hands together mockingly.  “We should begin preparations immediately. We can have you checked out for in-home hospice and give the bite away from prying eyes.”

 

~~~~

 

It was a disturbingly easy process to get Peter and Claudia checked out of the hospital. They were both adults, sound of mind if not body, and so there was little the doctors could do to stop them. It was also apparently well known that Claudia was simply not going to get better, so her desire to die in the comfort of her own home was understandable. In Peter’s case they may have wanted to hold onto him longer to study his miraculous healing, but in the end they had no explanation for it and backed down at the hint of him making a fuss over their incompetence.

Stiles had become a human tornado. Flying about their hospital rooms, gathering personal items, setting up the guest room at the Stilinski residence for Peter, pestering his dad into making sure everything was set up for the hospice workers who would help move Claudia home. The last thing any of them wanted was complications before she could receive the bite.  

After only a few short days Peter found himself comfortably ensconced in the completely average suburban home of his soon to be new pack members. He didn’t want to tempt fate but he was cautiously optimistic about the whole affair.

Of course, all good things must end, and there was one issue he was not looking forward to dealing with.

He paused, sitting alone in the guest room Stiles had cleaned out for him, good hand on his phone. Adding new wolves to the pack was a sacred thing. The bite was a gift, and every member of the pack was expected to witness and celebrate it. He should call Laura and Derek, but there was a bitter part of him that just didn’t want to. What good was a pack that you had to demand and order to support from? He had no doubt that Laura at least would push the issue until he was forced to command her, as her Alpha, to attend. And Derek...he wasn’t sure his nephew would answer the phone if he called. There was a pathetic, weak part of him that didn’t want to risk Derek actually rejecting him. After all, it may not be Derek’s fault for letting that murdering bitch into their lives, but it was Peter’s job to protect the pack. And he failed.

A text message would have to do. There would be no Alpha order involved, and at the end of the day he would know where he stood with what was left of his family. It was better this way.

Message sent, he mentally moved on. He had a pack to make.

 

~~~~

 

In the end the process was fast. With the privacy of the Stilinski home protecting them Peter wasn’t shy about shifting, and for once being wheelchair bound was convenient, as it put him at a comfortable height to the bed.

“I’ll have to bite your thigh,” he said, clinically as possible. He had only spent a week or so in the hospital awake but he already hated anyone touching or moving his body without his permission, so he offered Claudia the courtesy of information, at least. “You’re too skinny elsewhere and I don’t want to risk biting bone. Just try and think of it like a deep muscle vaccine.”

Claudia nodded jerkily, and John helped her with her dressing gown. Peter gave them privacy to get ready, Derek and Stiles silent support from the sidelines where they wouldn’t get in the way. Derek had shown up just after breakfast, slinking in like a kicked dog when Stiles had opened the door and ushered him inside with plenty of chattering, all of which Derek gave no response to beyond the occasional nod or shake of the head. Laura was still a no show, and Peter mentally sighed. If she didn’t go omega she would be in big trouble for missing the creation of a new packmate. He wouldn’t let her off the hook for this, not when the pack needed solidarity so desperately. Gods, he hoped she swallowed her pride and came slinking back to them. The life of an omega was short and brutal. As angry as he was with her he still loved his stupid, bullheaded niece.

“Breath in slowly, nice and deep,” He instructed, placing his good hand near the top of her thigh to stop any involuntary movement. He didn’t want to shred the skin anymore than he had to. “On three now.”

The taste of copper is electric on his tongue as he sinks his fangs in, drawing a hiss of pain from Claudia even as she remains still, only tensing a bit under the pain. From the corner of the room the scent of Stiles’ anxiety sharpens, but no one moves as he remains latched to the bite. When he finally pulls back he can see two perfect crescents of clean teeth marks, and he nods to John who rushes over with bandages. Time will tell if the bite takes, and he gestures to Derek to wheel him out, giving the Stilinski’s a moment alone.

Derek leaves Peter sitting in the living room and slinks off to the kitchen. The soft murmur of conversation goes on in the other room for a time, but before long Peter is joined by a very relieved looking John, the bedroom door banging shut as Stiles skipped off to his room with all the grace of a newborn deer intent on some mission or another.

“She isn’t feeling much pain from the bite,” John remarked, taking a seat on the couch next to Peter with a sigh. “No sign of that black goo you talked about.”

Peter nods, unsurprised. “That’s good. It tends to come on quickly if the bite is rejected. Give her another half hour for sure and we should be clear.”

John leans back, a shuddering breath wracking through him as he blinks up at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts, or simply feeling the relief of it all. “I don't know how we can ever repay you.”

Internally Peter was rolling his eyes. As if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that there would be only one thing he truly wanted. “Your wife is pack now, John. That means family, and I can assure you that as Alpha, protecting my family will always be highest priority. Against any threat.”

John nodded, jaw clenching as the cogs turned, the implication subtle but there if he chose to acknowledge it. The rest of Peter’s family had been murdered. Claudia may be safe from illness, but until Kate was put away his wife would never be out of danger.

“You’re family now too John. Both you and Stiles,” he reminded the man gently. “I will do everything in my power to keep you all safe, but that means we need a plan, and with the nature of what we are, that plan may not be what you are used to.”

John groaned, running a hand over his face. He looked haggard in that moment, tired but determined. “Alright, lay it on me, Hale. What exactly are we dealing with here?”

“Hunters. Specifically a local family by the name of Argent. Fanatical humans who think supernatural people need to die.” The words were bitter on his tongue, his gums itching to let fangs drop so he could destroy this threat to his pack. That the Argents had lived side by side with his pack for years without any violence only poured salt in the wound. He doubted he would ever know if the treaty had been real, or  if their so called code had always been discarded in favor of slipping in and under his family’s defenses until they found the perfect moment to strike.

“The fire wasn’t an accident.” This was Deputy Stilinski now, all professional focus and solemn questioning.

“No, it was murder. It’s why I was hesitant at first to consider changing your wife.” Lies, he didn’t give two fucks about putting some humans in danger if it got him what he wanted, but now that they were pack he would protect them with everything he had. “The Argents didn’t care about the humans in my family, or the children and elderly, and I have no reason to believe they would have cared about your family’s safety or humanity. You’ve been looking into the fire, and I would bet my life they are aware of that.”

“How—”

“Stiles told me he saw the files out and about around your home. And if a child noticed, then believe me, the Argents would have noticed sooner or later and silenced you. Along with anyone who might have any interest in avenging you.”

“This is crazy.” John sounded angry, a good sign. Better than scared, and as long as the anger stayed directed at the Argents, Peter could work with it.

“I agree. My family is dead, John. I hope you understand my desire to see the murderers brought to justice.”

“We can have them arrested,” John began, but Peter didn’t need supernatural senses to tell that the man didn’t believe that.

“Yes. And then their relatives or hangers on would receive orders to kill you and make the charges disappear. I can't emphasize enough how cunning they are. They have friends everywhere, and rely on the fact that we werewolves will not out ourselves to the general populace. To do so would surely spark a mass panic and genocidal campaign against us. We don’t want that. We just want peace, and to live our lives without fear of being hunted like animals.”

“Well shit,” John sighed. “We had better get planning then. I guess if they can get the drop on a whole family of werewolves then our plan needs to be airtight.”

“Of course,” Peter agreed, his smile sharp. “I’m sure between the two of us we can cover every eventuality.”

“I’ll get my laptop, and dinner I guess. Order in?”

“Chinese would be perfect. I haven’t had a decent meal, or at least one that isn’t mostly through a tube, in months,” Peter replied, his stomach agreeing. It wasn’t like the hospital knew to take his werewolf metabolism into account while he was there. “Order triple everything for all of us, on me. There’s nothing as dangerous as getting between hungry werewolves and good lo mein.”

John grunted agreement and dragged himself up to order. It was going to be a long night, but hopefully one that would lay the groundwork for everything that needed to come.

The rest of the evening was spent in focused debate and a flurry of food. Between Peter’s work as Tailia’s Left Hand and John’s knowledge of the locals they had several possible routes for removing the Argents from the town with varying states of permanency. The two men bickered and strategized, arguing over who was to be held responsible and what level of punishment they would face. For now there were several people getting off lighter than Peter would have liked, but he had no doubt that John would soon harden up and loosen those restrictions when he finally encountered the hunter’s particular brand of hypocritical, murder driven racism.

Derek continued to lurk, sometimes skulking out of the shadows to fetch things or to bring Claudia food. The woman was sleeping off the bite and excitement of the day. Stiles had checked back in with her before disappearing again into his room with an anxious look at his father and Peter. The boy must have been burning with curiosity, but put up no fight when his father covered what they had been working on and banished him from the living room. Stiles actually did an admirable job of staying out of the way, taking some movies back to his room with his chinese, and soon the soft sounds of superhero fights hummed out from the boy’s space.

They should have known better than to think that it would be that easy.

When the call came it startled all of them, jarring them out of their focused planning with a horrible ringtone meant to wake a cop from even the deepest sleep in the event of a call in. The fact that it was the station calling didn’t register as alarming however. Who else would be calling so late in the evening?

“Stilinski,” John answered the call curtly, grimacing at the wet spot on his shirt where he had spilled his water when the phone startled them.

“John you need to get to the station right now,” the woman was frantic, and John jump to his feet, suddenly on full alert. “We just got a call from dispatch. Stiles just phoned 911 claiming to have been kidnapped by some woman. Jeff’s on route to pick him up and we have two other patrols en route,” she cut him off as John started to interrupt. “Stiles says he’s safe. Said the woman is dead, but he wasn't making a whole lot of sense and there wasn’t much more we could get out of him.”

Peter was frozen. How could Argent have snatched the boy right out from under his nose? He hadn’t even noticed the boy slipping out, and the sound of the tv was still going strong from the boy’s room. How long ago had the boy’s heartbeat slipped away, covered by the noise of the movies? Had she snatched him directly from his room? If not, then how?

“Station’s half way, John. Jeff will bring your boy to us, just get your ass over here in one piece, ok?” The dispatch woman was firm, and it seemed to steady the boy’s father.

“On my way,” he said, shutting the phone off without another word as he ran from the room. Peter just sat there, gripped with shock and dread as there was a jangle of keys and the door slamming shut, no room left in John’s mind for anything but getting to his son.

“She did it again,” he stared at his clawed hands, unable to pull back his wolf as it fought to rip a bloody path out of him. “She takes everything and I—” he snarled, lowering his claws and ripping into his arms, “I NEVER STOP HER.”

“Uncle Peter,” a voice like gravel broke through the red haze of rage and fear that threatened to swamp out all thoughts in Peter’s mind. “ Stiles is _fine_. The woman said he’s safe. You have to put your wolf away or we won't be able to see him.”

Peter jerked, eyes snapping up to meet his nephew’s calm, blue gaze.

The stupid boy hadn’t spoken in months out of guilt and grief, had worried both his pack members sick, but here he was bossing his Alpha around like they hadn’t almost lost another pup to that psychotic killer. Fuck, it was so good to hear him speaking again.

“Take me to him,” Peter ground out, barely cognizant of Derek swiftly springing into action. He needed his pup back.

In record time Derek got them both out the door, only hesitating briefly, scent clouding with bitter self hatred and guilt when he realized Peter would need to be bodily lifted into the car. But he shook it off, and soon Peter and his chair were bundled into the SUV they had been renting since the fire, and the pair were tearing off to the sheriff’s department hot on John’s heels.

By the time they get inside the building they are shocked to see John standing at the front desk, arguing with another officer in clipped tones.

“ Stiles is _fine_ ,don’t worry about it, ok? He isn’t in any trouble, really. As crazy as this all is it’s a clear case of self defense.”

“You’re telling me my son _killed_ a woman and that’s not reason to worry?”

“John? Is there a problem?” It was only Derek’s solid presence against his back that stopped Peter from using his nose and hunting down Stiles right there in the station, police be damned.

“There’s no problem,” the woman at the desk said, giving John a cutting glare when he tried to protest. “Stiles is in Kyle’s old office. Go see your boy, John. Fuck the rest of it.”

“Lead the way,” Derek rumbles, when it becomes clear that John is about to stay and argue more. Peter doesn’t care how they get to him, he just needs to get to Stiles.

John deflates. He gives himself a small shake and then nods at the woman, who just waves him off, still frowning at him.

“This way, he’s back here.” John says, and they head off through the halls of the surprisingly busy station. It’s late, and most officers are out on patrol, but whatever went down with Stiles and Kate has the office cops buzzing like an angry hive. Kate should have known better than to go after the family of law enforcement. Distantly Peter wonders if this means murder charges might actually stick on the Argents for once. It doesn’t matter however, the only thing that matters is getting his pup back safe.

They turn a few corners before John stops and greets two officers standing vigil in front of a door that looks like half the other doors in the place. There’s no window into the room from inside the hall, so it’s a shock to see the mess that greets them when they enter the room.

“Stiles!” John rushed in, falling to his knees in front of the boy and scooping him into his arms.

At the sight of the boy Peter almost slipped off his seat in horror, but Derek was at his side in an instant to brace his trembling weight as he sagged in his chair.

The child was covered in blood, the tell-tale streaks of arterial spray covering him from waist to hairline. Red was everywhere, glistening like flames as it caught the dull yellow light of the government issued fluorescent bulbs overhead.

“It’s not his, Peter it’s not his blood.” Derek’s voice was shaking, catching on the words even as his heart beat true. “Use your nose. It’s Kate’s blood. I swear. It’s hers. He’s ok, he’s fine, it’s Kate’s.”

“What happened?” John asked, pulling back enough to check his son over for injuries. “Are you ok? How did she even get you? Why weren’t you at home?”

“Dad,” Stiles pushed away from his father, but his hands remained fisted tight in the man’s shirt. “I’m fine, just a little bruised from where she grabbed me too hard. The blood,” his lip quivered, and Peter almost pushed forward out of Derek’s grip, but something was off. “I just wanted to get mom some cookies. She hasn’t had anything like that in so long and I—I thought it would be a nice welcome home present.” Tears were flowing now, and the other cops began trickling out to give the group some privacy. No doubt an official statement would need to be given but with Kate dead and Stiles here there was no immediate danger. “The store was farther away than I thought it was, and—and the lady was walking the same way I was.” Peter was almost positive those were crocodile tears now pouring down the boy’s face, but his wolf couldn’t smell anything over the blood and his wolf was still scratching at his thoughts, demanding that they get their hands on the boy so they could check him for wounds. He wanted to scent him, to hide him away and mark him so thoroughly that no one would ever dare touch him again.

John was murmuring a mix of reassurances and minor expletives as he soothed the boy down from hysterics.

“She said I was going to be a message, and she had a knife. I didn’t know what to do! I grabbed it from her but she was going to take it back and I don’t know, there was just blood everywhere and she was so angry, I ran away. I didn’t know she died!”

“Damn it Stiles,” John gave the boy a worried squeeze before pulling back with a frustrated sigh. “You always manage to get into a hell of a lot of trouble. What are we going to do about this?”

“I don't think there will be much of a problem, seeing as how you just convinced me to come down and make a statement regarding Kate Argent’s involvement in the fire,” Peter said tightly, raising his brows at the man. “Very convenient that I managed to come out of a coma recently and wanted to give a statement on the arson. Now this is just a clear cut case of self defense by a child abducted and threatened by a known psychopath.”

John stared at him, hands half way through pulling at his hair. Then his jaw tightened, and he nodded once, sharply. “You’re right. Pretty open and closed. I’ll need to file my investigation report, and we’ll need statements,” his eyes flicked over his son and away, already compartmentalizing as he fell into cop mode, “From both of you. Jesus. Let me go talk to some people, get Stiles some clean clothes. You’ll watch him?”

The “you’ll protect him” was clearly implied, and Peter nodded affirmative, waving the man off. He wanted to be alone with his boy. Someone needed to be there for him and angry, frantic hugs only went so far.

“Go. Do what you need to. Take this one with you,” he jerked a thumb at Derek, who slank up from where he had settled in the corner. Always lurking, that boy. “Send him to get Stiles some  new stuff. I’m sure you’ll want to call your wife yourself, but I recommend you wait till Derek is there in case she...goes momma wolf on us.”

Stiles huffed, then shivered. Whatever game he had been playing before had clearly been worn out as a real adrenaline crash set in. “Some water would be nice,” Peter said significantly, and John jolted guiltily, muttering his agreement as he rushed out, Derek a silent shadow behind him.

The door clicked closed and the pair were finally alone. There was no tell-tail hum of electricity to indicate cameras in use in the room, and as it was a private office Peter felt confident enough that they weren’t being observed. He pushed his way over to the boy, taking him by the shoulders and beginning a thorough checking over. Stiles remained pliant, moving as needed while Peter’s wolf satisfied itself as to his safety and wellbeing.

“So, you just decided to take a stroll around the block and what, shank Kate Argent? The professional murderer who hunts monsters for a living?”

Stiles crumpled inward, but nodded defiantly.

Peter felt the rumble growling deep within his ribs. “Why? What possessed you to put yourself in such danger? You are a child! And human!”

“That’s why it worked. She didn’t see any reason to be afraid of me. I was just some kid, annoying and not worth bothering with. No one thinks a kid is going to knock on your door, pull out a knife, and stick it in your gut.” Stiles shivered again, but whether it was due to his confession or his exhaustion was unclear.

Peter stared at him. So it was premeditated. The boy had just murdered one of the best hunters in the country on a whim and by the seat of his pants. Just fucking grabbed a kitchen knife and stuck it in Kate Argent’s gut. Crocodile tears indeed.

“You killed her. On purpose. Why? You knew I had a plan, why didn’t you let me handle it? Or your father? Why not leave it to the police?”

“Leave what to the police?” The boy sounded truly baffled, like Peter was the one making no sense. “You said she was a hunter. That means she knew she could get away with it. She planned and murdered and hunted monsters,” Stiles scoffed out, a surprisingly judgmental sound from such a young boy. “My dad couldn’t exactly take this to the department Peter. Even I know that. If she did manage to get caught and locked up on, oh, I don’t know—insanity for thinking werewolves are real then that would just set all her friends against you, wouldn’t it?”

Stiles stared beseechingly at Peter, needing confirmation that he wasn’t wrong, that Kate was one monster who couldn’t be locked up.

“That’s true,” he reached out, rubbing a thumb along the boy’s face, blood turning the touch sticky and cold. “But why would you risk yourself like that? Just for me?”

Stiles sighed, looking at Peter with a hopeless kind of openness.

“Peter, you saved my mom. Dad couldn’t do that. The doctors couldn’t even do that. But you did, even though your family didn’t want you to,” his voice shook a little, but there was fire glinting in the boy’s overbright eyes. “You saved my family, so I—I wanted to save your family. Laura and Derek are horrible and sad and I know they’re your pack and they suck a lot, but I don’t want them to die. I just want you to be happy.”

He stared at the boy, this gangly young thing still streaked with the blood of the woman who took everyone from him. This child who unblinkingly took what Peter offered, no disdain or wariness or revulsion at his methods, and then turned around and gave Peter more.

He shuddered, a pleased growl growing deep inside. He closed his eyes, finally letting himself savor the scent of Kate Argent's blood mixed with the scent of his boy, his proud little pack member who brought him this kill like a cat brings dead mice for its owner.

“You are amazing, brilliant, loyal, and I couldn’t be more proud.” He said, knowing the words fell short of everything he was feeling just now.

Stiles stared at him, eyes wide and surprise written across every bit of him. Peter suppressed a snarl at the realization that the boy didn’t expect to be praised for his sacrifice, for his _service_ to his pack.

All at once the boy broke, fat tears finally pouring forth as he finally let go of his mask. “Daddy is so mad Peter,” he said, pressing his bloodied face into the wolf’s clean, blue henley as Peter pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m a bad guy. I’m a murderer. He’s going to hate me forever.”

“You aren’t a murderer, baby,” Peter rumbled, good hand rubbing soothing circles on the boy’s thin back. “You’re a protector. All good wolves protect their family, and Kate was a monster who killed so many people. Your father is just mad that you put yourself in danger. He’s scared because you could have been hurt.” He could still feel that fear of only a moment ago, knowing that she had taken Stiles and there was nothing he could do about it.  

“You could have died pup. I was scared too. Ask Derek, he can tell you how growly I got when we heard you were in danger.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles wailed, giving up all pretext and doing his best to crawl into Peter’s lap regardless of the wheelchair. He held the boy tightly against him as he cried his stress out. It was a comfort, having the boy in his arms, knowing that all that fragile humanity was safe forever from Kate Argent.

“Stiles baby,” he said, pulling back just enough to look the exhausted boy in the eyes. “Would you like to be a werewolf?”

Golden doe eyes blinked up at him, still wet with lingering tears. “Like be in your pack?” the confusion in his voice was obvious and Peter sighed, reminded again of how new this all was.

“Silly boy. You are already pack. Nothing can change that now, you are mine forever. But use that brain of yours please, and consider it. If you take the bite and become a werewolf you will be stronger and,” he paused, but his wolf gave a mental push, not unlike a demand. This boy would truly be the end of him if he ever realized how vulnerable Peter was willing to make himself to keep him. “If you were a wolf we would always be connected, Alpha and Beta. I would feel you in my mind and you would feel me. If someone had really taken you it would be a way for us to find you again.”

“And I would be able to find you? Or my mom and dad?” Stiles perked up, but made no move to get off Peter, despite really being too big for such cuddling. Peter didn’t mind. It wasn’t like a human boy as small and skinny as Stiles could really hurt him, whatever wounds the fire had left him with.

“Yes, Laura and Derek as well. You would be able to feel, even if only a little, anyone in our pack. We would be bonded.”

Stiles grumbled at the mention of the younger Hales, but he didn’t seem opposed to the idea at all.

“We’re keeping Laura and Derek,” Peter said with a grin. “They might be morons, but they are our morons.”

Stiles pouted, slouching down with a ridiculously adorable, mutinous expression.

“That doesn’t mean their recent behavior will fly in the future. After all, your mother is still recovering so she gets top priority for pack needs, and I think my dear niece will soon find herself a little lower on the pack ladder than anticipated. You’ve only just started a good growth spurt, so it won't be long now before you are strong enough to take the bite, and show them how family really should care for each other.” He huffed, hand carding through the boy’s hair as he contemplated his blood relatives. “Laura was her mother’s heir, but she will not be mine. Not after her first instinct in a crisis was to flee and abandon all pack members who weren’t fighting fit.”

What a mess that was, and with Laura refusing to show to support Claudia’s bite she had put herself even further on thin ice. She couldn’t be allowed to act out any longer. Even in grief there could only be so many allowances to be made. “I don’t think taking Derek with her when she ran would have done her any good. She already treats him like a servant and hasn’t even admitted he’s hurt too.” Stiles made an angry grumble at this. Laura hadn’t made a good impression on the pup at all. Peter almost pitied her. “ I’d hate to be Derek when she figures out he was the one Kate used to get in.”

“We need to protect him too,” Stiles deduced, a discontented frown on his face.

“He was a victim, as much as any of us if not….more,” Peter grudgingly admitted. He was still mad about it, but he could admit that he was mostly mad at himself. He should have known. Derek never should have been in a position to be so used.

“We’ll help him,” Stiles said, snuggling close again as the weariness of the day hit him. “Because we’re pack, right?”

Peter smiled. “That’s right. We are pack.”

Stiles sighed happily, rubbing his face against Peter’s shirt in contentment. Then he stiffened, eyes flying open. “Oh shit! Mom’s going to kill me when she finds out I snuck out and killed someone!”

Peter laughed, a loud, belly kind of laugh that just this morning he didn’t think would ever be possible again. His wolf howled happily in him.

He had a pack again.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic....Ugh. I love it but it about killed me. Still, I'm happy I could get it finished and add more to this ship community. 
> 
> Please be kind, comments feed my writing and I am very fragile over this fic.
> 
> **Please don't ask for sequels or updates, I know its from a place of love (and I so appreciate when people like my work) but I am a sad, anxious bunny who has bills to pay and a real life to live and it makes me feel enormously guilty when a comment is only about updating or not being satisfied with what I already shared. Just know I will always eventually return, and that I appreciate words of love or enjoyment rather than demands for more writing that I may not be able to do.**
> 
> Come say hello. I am a lonely person.  
> ambersagen.tumblr.com


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